


our gift to each other

by see_addy_write



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 14:12:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18367628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/see_addy_write/pseuds/see_addy_write
Summary: The question is clearly rhetorical, for which Michael is grateful. He doesn’t think he could come up with a coherent response if he tried. He’s drained and comfortable, and Alex is there, touching him. Saying all the right things… It’s all he’s wanted for a long, long time. Michael doesn’t want to question it, or talk it to death. He just wants to enjoy it while it lasts.





	our gift to each other

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this prompt from roswellprompts: "michael using his powers to bend leftover scraps from the junkyard into sculptures to quiet the chaos." 
> 
> Title comes from an Elie Weisel quote from his Nobel Prize acceptance speech: "Peace is our gift to each other."
> 
> Basically, I wrote this while I was taking a break from writing IEPs and evaluation reports, so if it's terrible, you know why. Being a teacher in April is rough, y'all. 
> 
> Also, I've somehow stumbled into writing a multi-chapter Roswell fic. Someone should really stop me. 
> 
> <3

Stress always makes the noise in his head louder. Michael can’t quiet his racing thoughts – he’s simultaneously running equations and possibilities for Liz’s newest serum and replaying every moment of his last conversation with Alex as he tries again, fruitlessly, to convince the console of the ship to work. He worries about his siblings, about Isobel and the alien messing around in her brain, about Max and how he’s handling the fact that so many people know their secrets, and at the same time, he tries to narrow down their list of suspects, and those theories are added to the mess in his head. 

When he’d come down to his makeshift lab, it had been in the hopes that working would do something to dull the constant cacophony of his thoughts, but no such luck. Instead, it had just added a new, discordant melody into the noise – why can’t he make it work? Is he really willing to just up and leave the planet if he does make it work? 

The ship, the lab – all of it makes him think of Alex, and Michael nearly groans aloud when he realizes it. When he looks at the ship console, he pictures the expression of awe on the other man’s face as he explained the molecular structure to him. When he touches it, he thinks of Alex’s hands doing the same. Alex has always introduced chaos in Michael’s mind; emotions are difficult to process, and Alex causes an explosion of them just by looking in Michael’s direction with those stupidly soft eyes. But he can’t think about Alex right now. He can’t. It has to stop before he loses his fucking mind. 

He leaves the bunker and shoves the airstream back over the entrance with his mind. The concentration required gives him a moment of peace, and before he can think better of it, Michael is reaching out with his power to drag a pile of metal scraps from the junkyard into the clearing he’s standing in. There’s a lot of it, and the exertion is just what he needs. Michael takes a deep breath and starts twisting the metal mindlessly, this way and that, relishing in the peace it brings him. 

“Taking up abstract art now, Guerin?” 

The voice is painfully familiar, and the noise he’s been working so hard to quiet comes roaring back, more questions and more desperate hope surging. Alex is there. Alex is there, talking to him – Is he going to get Michael’s hopes up and walk away again? Is this going to be another awkward Q&A? Michael might really lose his shit if he has to look at Alex and admit to any more of what happened to him in foster care tonight. He’s already so close to the edges of his control; he’s more destructive than Max when he loses it, and he could definitely hurt someone. Maybe even Alex, if he’s standing too close. 

“Something like that,” Michael mutters, not looking at Alex as he twists several pieces of metal at once into a human-like structure, like a three-dimensional stick figure. He’s no artist, but that’s not the point of this little exercise. “What do you want now, Manes? I already gave up all my secrets. I don’t have anything left.” 

It’s more true than he cares to admit. Watching Alex walk away – fuck, Michael can’t do this right now. He focuses on the sculpture taking shape in front of him, pushing another piece of metal into a curlicue and putting it on top of the head, like some sort of hair. It looks ridiculous, like a cartoon character drawn by a toddler’s unpracticed hand. For another moment, everything is quiet. 

But of course, that’s when Alex speaks. “I just wanted to see you.”

It takes a lot of stubborn will to continue bending metal, but Michael Guerin is nothing if not hard-headed. He’s given up on the humanoid statue and moved on to turning long strips of metal into interlocking circles, and makes it more complicated – thus, requiring more focus – by sorting the links in descending size. “Well, you’ve seen me,” he grunts, sweat starting to dot his brow. This is the most he’s used his powers in one go in a long, long time, and he knows he should stop. But this is the quietest his head has been since he had to give up the guitar, and he’s loathe to surrender that peace. 

“ _Seriously_ , Guerin? Why are you acting like this?” 

The strip he’s working on snaps, and both pieces fall to the ground with a thud. Michael’s fists clench at his sides, and he turns slowly to look at Alex. “I can’t do this tonight,” he says dully, and his hands are shaking now, pressed against the dirty fabric of his torn jeans. “I can’t pretend we’re just friends, or watch you walk away, and I damn well can’t fight with you. I just need some quiet.”

It’s not that he’s forgotten he told Alex about the chaos in his mind – Michael’s pretty sure he’s catalogued every second of the time he’s spent with Alex, and pulled it out to replay it, over and over, on shitty nights when he’s so lonely his skin practically aches with want for affection. But admitting his own weaknesses has never been easy, and that’s not exactly the kind of thing that makes him feel better on tough days. He doesn’t expect Alex to understand.

But he seems to. He closes his mouth and sits down on an overturned crate, watching silently as Michael exhausts himself building half-assed metal sculptures without lifting a hand. When he finally ends up on his ass in the dirt, one hand over his stomach as it churns in reaction to the amount of energy he’s expended, Alex is there, holding out a bottle of acetone wordlessly. 

Michael takes the bottle and swallows half of it, then looks at Alex with an arched brow. “What are you doing here?” he asks again, because he has to know now, before the doubts and fears he has ruins his peaceful moment. 

Alex’s hand falls on his shoulder, then slides up the sticky arch of his neck to cup his cheek. Michael shivers at the gentle caress, and instinctively pushes into the touch, his ears turning red almost immediately. Touch is another of his weaknesses, and Alex – fuck, how is he supposed to resist when the other man is giving him exactly what he needs in that moment? Quiet acceptance. Understanding. And an anchor to reality, when Michael’s at risk of losing touch with it completely. 

“I’m here because I want to be,” Alex says simply, the pad of his thumb sliding across the five o’clock shadow Michael hadn’t bothered to shave. “I told you before: I’m sick of running. I know I messed up when I left earlier – I should’ve just admitted that the idea of you leaving the planet for good hurts, but we’ve never really been great at talking, have we?” The question is clearly rhetorical, for which Michael is grateful. He doesn’t think he could come up with a coherent response if he tried. He’s drained and comfortable, and Alex is there, touching him. Saying all the right things… It’s all he’s wanted for a long, long time. 

Michael doesn’t want to question it, or talk it to death. He just wants to enjoy it while it lasts. 

“Can I stay tonight?” Alex’s hand migrates to Michael’s curls, and he finds himself slumping forward, his forehead against the thigh of Alex’s good leg. It’s strange, to be seated on the ground while the other man stands over him, but everything is so blissfully silent that Michael doesn’t give a shit. 

“If you stay tonight, you gotta stay for good,” Michael mutters, and wonders if Alex will even hear the words. He must, because the hand in his hair stills, and Michael has to swallow his disappointment. He’s pushed too far, and what’s more, he knows it. Knew it before the words even came out of his mouth. Alex has never been willing to commit to anything past one night – maybe a morning after, if Michael’s lucky. He’s never been enough for Alex to want to stay for good. That’s the problem in a nutshell. 

Slowly, Michael leans away from Alex and stands to say goodnight and go back to his bed alone, but a hand seizes his elbow, stopping him before he can get even a little distance between himself and Alex. “I’ll stay if you will,” he says fervently, and there’s a desperation in his brown eyes that mimics exactly how Michael himself feels every time he realizes that Alex is about to leave him. It takes him a moment to realize that Alex is still talking about the ship console, about Michael’s desire to know where he comes from – and shit, is that what this is all about? Does he seriously think that Michael would want to leave if he had Alex? 

“All you ever had to do was ask.” The words are hoarse, raw with emotion Michael has struggled to hide for days now. “You’re worth sticking around for.” How has Alex not realized that there’s nothing Michael wouldn’t do, wouldn’t give up for him by now? He’s been waiting for Alex for ten years; there’s no way he’d give up if he thought he had a chance. 

He can see the worry in Alex’s eyes. Being the sole reason to stay on the planet seems like a big responsibility, but Michael doesn’t see it that way. It’s more of an excuse, because really, Michael’s scared shitless of what he’d find if he did try to go home. A world without Max and Isobel, without Alex – it’s not a world he could ever really belong in, no matter how much he wants to. Maybe, eventually, he’ll be able to explain that to Alex. For now, he just pulls his elbow out his grip and takes him by the hand instead, leading him toward the front door of the trailer. “Can we talk about this tomorrow?” he asks, wrung out enough that the request comes out more like a plea. “Please? Just be here with me tonight. I promise, we can hammer out all the details in the morning. I just -” 

“– need some quiet,” Alex finishes for him, a smile flickering around the corners of his lips. “Yeah, Guerin. We can do that.” To Michael’s pleased surprise, Alex pulls him and seals the promise with a kiss. It’s gentle, almost chaste, but he cradles Michael’s face like he’s something precious and it thaws something icy in his chest. Michael sighs in pleasure and nestles his face against Alex’s neck when the kiss ends, just breathing in the familiar scent. 

Maybe this time isn’t any different than the others. Maybe Alex is still going to leave. Michael’s been burned too many times before to truly trust this – but for him, there’s no choice. He’s going to let Alex back into his heart as many times as it takes to stick, because that’s what love is. Patience. Persistence. Faith … and finding peace in another person.


End file.
